And, while in luxury's dream I sink,
Let me the balm of Bacchus drink!
In this delicious hour of joy
Young Love shall be my goblet-boy;
Folding his liule golden vest,
With cinctures, round bis snowy breast,
Himself shall lover by my side,
And minister the racy tide!
Swift as the wheels that kindling roll,
Our life is hurrying to the goal:
A scanty dust to feed the wind,
Is all the trace't will leave behind.
Why do we shed the rose's bloom
Upon the cold, insensate tomb!
Can flowery breeze, or odour's breath,
Affect the slumbering chill of death?
No, no ; I ask no balm to steep
With fragrant tears my bed of sleep:
But now, while every pulse is glowing,
Now let me breathe the balsam flowing;
Now let the rose with blush of fire,
Upon my brow its scent expire;
And bring the nyinph with floating eye,
Oh! she will teach me how to die!
Yes, Cupid! ere my soul retire,
To join the blest Elysian choir,
With wine, and love, and blisses dear,
I'll make my own Elysium here!

« And who art thou,» I waking cry, « That bid'st my blissful visions fly?» « O gentle sire!» the infant said, « In pity take me to thy shed; Nor fear deceit : a lonely child I wander o'er the gloomy wild. Chill drops the rain, and not a ray Illumes the drear and misty way!» I hear the baby's tale of woe; I hear the bitter night-winds blow; And, sigling for liis piteous fate, I trimm'd my lamp, and oped the gate. 'T was Love! the little wandering sprite, llis pinion sparkled through the night! I knew him by lois bow and dart; I knew him by my fluttering heart! I take him in, and fondly raise The dying embers' cheering blaze; Press from his dank and clinging hair The crystals of the freezing air, And in my hand and bosom hold His little fingers thrilling cold. And now the embers' genial ray Had warm'd his anxious fears away; « I pray thee,» said the wanton child (My bosom trembled as he smiled), « I pray thee let me try my bow, For through the rain I 've wander'd so, That much I fear the ceaseless shower Has injured its elastic power.» The fatal bow the urchin drew; Swift from the string the arrow flew; Oh ! swift it flew as glancing flame, And to my very soul it came! « Fare thee well,» I heard him say, As laughing wild lic winy d away; « Fare thee well, for now I know The rain has not relax'd my bow; It still can send a maddening dart, As thou shalt own with all thy heart!

ODE XXXIII. 'T was noon of night, when round the pole The sullen Bear is seen to roll; And mortals, wearied with the day, Are slumbering all their cares away: An infant, at that dreary hour, Came weeping to my silent bower, And waked me with a piteous prayer, To save him from the midnight air!

ODE XXXIV.' On thou, of all creation blest, Sweet insect! that delight'st to rest

• And who art thou, I waking cry',

. That bid'st my blissful visions fy?] Anacreon appear is baie been a solupruary even in dreaming, by the lively regret ** presses at being disturbed from bis visionary enjoşia 903). *** odes x, and TIIVII.

'Twas Love! the little wandering sprite, etc.) Seo the heat description of Cupid, by Moschus, in his first idyl.

'Father Rapin, in a Latin ode addressed to the grasdorte, preserved some of the thoughts of our author:

o quæ virenti graminis in toro,
Cicada, blande sidis, et herbides

Saltus oberras, Oriosos

Ingeniosa ciere captus.
Seu forte adultis floribus incubas,

Coli caducis ebria fletibus, etc.
Ob thou, that on the grassy bed
Which Nature's vernal band bas spread.
Relioest soft, and tunest thy song.
The dewy herbs and Icaves among!
Whether thou liest on springing flowers,
Drunk with the balmy morning-showers,

Or, etc.
Gressbut Liertus says about grasshoppers, cap. 93 54 55

Luckless urchin not to see
Within the leaves a slumbering bee!
The bee awaked-with anger wild
The bee awaked and stung the child.
Loud and piteous are his cries;
To Venus quick he runs, he flies!
« Oh mother !-I am wounded through-
I die with pain-in sooth I do!
Stung by some little angry thing,
Some serpent on a tiny wing-
A bee it was—for once, I know,
I heard a rustic call it so.»

Upon the wild wood's leafy tops, To drink the dew that morning drops, And chirp thy song with such a glee, That happiest kings may envy thee! Whatever decks the velvet field, Whate'er the circling seasons yield, Whatever buds, whatever blows, For thee it buds, for thee it grows. Nor yet art thou the peasant's fear, To him thy friendly notes are dear; For thou art mild as matin dew, And still, when summer's flowery hue Begins to paint the bloomy plain, We hear thy sweet prophetic strain ; Thy sweet prophetic strain we hear, And bless the notes and thee revere! The Muses love thy shrilly tone; Apollo calls thee all his own; Twas he who gave that voice to thee, *T is he who tupes thy minstrelsy. Unworn by age's dim decline, The fadeless blooms of youth are thine. Melodious insect! child of earth! In wisdom mirthful, wise in mirth; Exempt from every weak decay, That withers vulgar frames away; With not a drop of blood to stain The current of thy purer vein; So blest an age is pass'd by thee, Thou seem'st a little deity!

ODE XXXV.
Cupid once upon a bed

Of roses laid his weary head; And chirp thy song with such a glee, etc. ] . Some authors have affirmed (saye Madame Dacier). that it is only male grasshoppers which sing, and that the females are silent; and on this circumstance is found. ed a bon-mot of Xonarchus, the comic poet, who says ent' HIFI OF τεττιγες ουκ ευδαιμονες, ων ταις γυναιξιν ουδ' οτι ουν 0619S 69% are not the grasshoppers happy in having dumb wives?'. This note is originally Heary Stephen's; but I chose rather to make Madame Dacier my authority for it.

The Muses love thy shrılly tone, etc.) Phile, de Animal. Proprietat. calls this insect Mourass Q1195, the darling of the Muses ; and M.Utwy opony, the bird of the Muses; and we find Plato compared for his eloquence to the grasshopper, in the following panning lines of Timon, preserved by Diogenes Laertius:

Ταν παντων δ' ήγειτο αλατυσατος, αλλ' αγορητης “Ηδυεπης τεττιξιν ισογραφος, οι θ' εκαδημου

Δενδρεα εφεζομενοι οπα λειριοεσσαν εισι. .

This last line is borrowed from Homer's Iliad, a. where there occurs the very same simile.

Melodious insect! child of earth! Longepierre bas quoted the two
Brst lines of an epigram of Antipater, from the first book of the An-
thologia, where he prefers the grasshopper to the swan:
Αρκει τεττιγας μεθυσαι δροσος, αλλα ειoντες
Audony xuxYW EICI

τι γίγωνοτεροι. .
In dew, that drops from morning's wings,

The gay Cicada sipping floats ;
And, drunk with dew, his matin sings

Sweeter than any cycaet's notes. • Theocritus has imitated this beautiful ode in his nineteenth idyl, but is very inferior, I think, to his original, in delicacy of point and naiveté of expression. Spenser in one of his smaller compositions, has

sported more diffusely on the same subject. The poem to which I allade begins thas.

Upon a day, as Love lay sweetly slumbering

All in his mother's lap:
A gentle bee, with bss load trumpet murmuring.

About him flew by bap, ete. In Almeloreea's collection of epigrams, there is one by Lavorius, correspondeat somewhat with the turn of Anacreoa, where Love complains to his mother of being sounded by a rose.

The ode before as is the very lower of simplicity. The infantine complainings of the little god, and the natural and impresure reflections wbieha tbey draw from Vebus, are beauties of inimitable grace. I hope I shall be pardosed for introducing another Greek Anacreontie of Monsieur Menage, not for its similcode to the subject of this ode, but for some faiet traces of this natural simplicity, which it appears to me to have preserved:

Ερως ποτ' εν χορείαις
Των παρθενων αυτον
Tu jsi çin.ny Kopirvey
“Ως ειδεν, ως προς αυτην

Προσεδραμεν τραχηλο
Διδυμας τε χειρας απτων
Dine us, patep, SITE.
Καλουμενη Κορεννα
Μητηρ, ερυθριαζει,
“Ως παρθενος μεν ουσα.
Κ' αυτος δε δυσχεραίνων, ,
“Ως ομμασι αλανηθεις,
Ερως ερυθριαζει. .
Εγω δε οι σαραςας, ,
Μη δυσχεραίνε, φημι.
Κυπριν τε και Κορινναν
Διαγνωσαι ουκ εχουσι
Και οι βλεποντες οξυ. .
As dancing o'er be enamelld plain,
The flow'ret of the virgin train,
My soul's Coriona, lightly playa.
Young Cupid saw the graceful maid ,
He saw, and in a moment few,
And round ber neck bis arms he threw
And said, with smiles of infant joy.
Oh! kiss me, mother, kiss thy boy!.
Unconscious of a mother's name,
The modest virgin blush'd with shame!
And angry Cupid, scaree believing
That vision could be so deceiving.
Thas to mistake his Cyprian dame,
The little infant blush'd with shame.
. Be not ashamed, my boy.. I cried,
For I was hingering by his side ;

Corians and tby lovely mother,
Believe me, are so like each other,
That clearest eyes are oft betray'd,

And take tby Venus for the maid..
Zitto, in his Cappriciosi Pensieri, has translated this ode of Ana-

many a smile

And with the maid whose every sigh
Is love and bliss, entranced to lie
Where the embowering branches meet-
Oh! is not this divinely sweet?

ODE XLII. Yes, be the glorious revel mine, Where humour sparkles from the wine! Around me let the youthful choir Respond to my beguiling lyre; And while the red cup circles round, Mingle in soul as well as sound! Let the bright nymph, with trembling eye, Beside me all in blushes lie; And, while she weaves a frontlet fair Of hyacinth to deck my hair, Oh! let me snatch her sidelong kisses, And that shall be my bliss of blisses ! My soul, to festive feeling true, One pang of envy never knew; And little has it learn d to dread The call that Envy's tongue can shed. Away-I hate the slanderous dart, Which steals to wound the unwary heart; And oh! I hate, with all my soul, Discordant clamours o'er the bowl, Where every cordial heart should be Attuned to peace and harmony. Come, let us hear the soul of song Expire the silver barp along : And through the dance's ringlet move, With maidens mellowing into love; Thus simply happy, thus at peace, Sure such a life should never cease!

With many a cup

and The festal moments we beguile. And while the harp, impassion d, flings Tuneful rapture from the strings, Some airy nymph, with fluent limbs, Through the dance luxuriant swims, Waving, iu ber snowy hand,

he leafy Bacchanalian wand, Which, as the tripping wanton flies, Shakes its tresses to her sighs! A youth, the while, with loosen'd hair Floating on the listless air, Sings, to the wild harp's tender tone, A tale of woes, alas! his own; And then, what nectar in his sigh, As o'er his lip the murmurs die! Surely never yet has been So divine, so blest a scene! Has Cupid left the starry sphere, To wave his golden tresses here? Oh yes! and Venus, queen of wiles, And Bacchus, shedding rosy smiles, All, all are here, to hail with me The Genius of Festivity!

And while the harp, impassion'd, sings

Tuncsul rapture [rom the strings, etc.) On the barbiton a box of authorities may be collected, which, after all, leave us ignoraat ofte nature of the instrument. There is scarcely any point upon stut er are 50 totally uninformed as the music of the ancients. The amben'** extant upon the subject are. I imagine, lille understood, but ceri: 1 if one of tbeir monds was a progression by quarter-tones. mbio are told was the nature of the enharmonic scale, simplicity was by me means the characteristic of their melody: for this is a nicety of pgression of which modern music is nos susceptible. The invention of the barbiton is, by Athenxus, attribated to do,

See his fourib book, where it is called to supruz Ανακρέοντος. . Neanthes of Cyzicos, as quoted by Gralds the saine. Vide Chabot. in Horat, on the words • Lesbeam bar's in the first ode.

Crcon.

ODE XLIII.

Wille our rosy fillets shed Blushes o'er each fervid head,

And then, what nectar in his sigh,

Az o'er his lip the murmurs die?) Longepierre bas quoted here u epigram from the Anthologia:

Κουρη τις μ' εφίλησε σοβεσπερα χείλεσιν υγγας. Νεκταρεαν το φίλημα, το γαρ σιμα νεκταρος επ75%. Νυν μεθυω το φιλήμα, πολυν τον ερατα τιταεας. Of which the following may give some idea:

The king that she left on my lip

Like a dess-drop shall lingering lie; 'T was neitar she gave me to sip,

'T was nectar I drank in her sigla
The dew that distilled in that kiss,

To my soul was voluptuous wing :
Ever since it is drank with the bliss,

And feels a delirium divine !

And with the maid, whose erery sigh
Is love and bliss, etc. ) Thus Horace:

Quid habes illius, illius
Quæ spirabat amores,
Que me surpuerat mi.
And does there then remain but th's,

And hast thou lost each rosy ray
or her, who breathed the soul of bliss,

And stole me from myself away! * The character of Anacreon is here very strikingly depicted. His love of sial, harmonized pleasures is expressed with a warmtis, amiable and endearing. Among the epigrams imputed to Anacreon is the follossing, it is the only one worth translation, and it breathes the same sentiments with this ode:

ος κρητηρι παρα αλεω οινοπιταζων, Νεικεα και αολεμου δακρυοεντα λεγει. Αλλ' οςις Μουσεων τε, και αγλαα έαρ Αφροδίτης Ευμμιση ων, ερατης μνησκεσαι ευφροσυνης.

When to the lip the bor'mming eur

And hearts are all float upon the stream,
Then brunish from in; heard the unpolish'al guest

Who makes the feats of war bis bacharous thesie.
But bring the man, a bo o'er his goblet wreathes

TheHuse's Laurel wul the Cyprian foser:
Oh! give me him whose heari eransese breathes

All the retinements of the social lour.

Has Cupid left the starry sphere,

To wake his goldes tresses here?] The introduction of Lorem 10 the festival is merely allegorical 31 dame Dacier thiss ets poet describes a masquerade, where these derties are long the company in masks, The translation will coa!sms Hon.

is press'd,

411, all are here, to hail with me

The Genius of Festivity!) Kwuos, the deity or gesies die Prostratus, in the third of his pictures (as all the max tais bar serseil) gives a very beauniful description of this ge.

(a) Collected by Veibomios.